Quotes About Tartt

the King Cole room, and the Oyster Bar at Grand Central.

rain—was grappling for her wallet. "Maybe

Charles Portis shows his mastery of place and the more complicated subtleties of time.

with all your chick peas and your filthy little pocket breads?

a short, fiery mop of the reddest hair I had ever seen

He had a habit, as I was later to discover, of trailing off into absorbed, didactic, entirely self-contained monologues, about whatever he happened to be interested in at the time

This piece, not of the first quality, doesn't fit with anything else I own, and yet isn't it always the inappropriate thing, the thing that doesn't quite work, that's oddly the dearest?

I sometimes get the feeling that he was less pleased by kindness itself than by the elegance of the gesture.

Wrap it in newspapers and pack it at the very bottom of the trunk, my dear. With the other curiosities.

You know that thing Julian used to say,' said Francis. 'Which thing?' 'About a Hindu saint being able to slay a thousand on the battlefield and it not being a sin unless he felt remorse.

Death is the mother of beauty," said Henry. "And what is beauty?" "Terror.

You are - all your experience just kind of accumulates, and the novel takes a richness of its own simply because it has the weight of all those years that one's put into it.

On a trip to Cabo San Lucas, I was obsessed with Donna Tartt's 'The Secret History.' We were staying at the Esperanza hotel doing all sorts of lovely things, but I couldn't wait to get back to the book at night.

Though Julian could be marvelously kind in difficult circumstances of all sorts, I sometimes got the feeling that he was less pleased by kindness itself than by the elegance of the gesture.

By happy contrast, Hobie's whole day revolved around dinner.

had I stayed in California I might have ended up in a cult or at the very least practicing some weird dietary restriction.

Time, and repeated screenings, have endowed the memory with a menace the original did not possess. -The Secret History, pg. 260

In my own humorless state I failed to see anything except what I construed as certain tragic similarities between Gatsby and myself.

From the sound of it, had I stayed in California I might have ended up in a cult or at the very least practicing some weird dietary restriction.

We'd done our errands, not to mention an awful lot of cocaine in the parking lot of Burger King . . .

As much as I enjoyed her company I was slightly uneasy in her presence; not because of any lack of charm of kindness on her part, but because of a too-strong wish to impress her on mine

And I'm hoping there's some larger truth about suffering here, or at least my understanding of it – although I've come to realize that the only truths that matter to me are the ones I don't, and can't, understand. What's

garden hoes, there was a small but conspicuous headline.

At home in bed, in my private abyss of longing, the scenes I dreamed of always began like this.